Spectrum
by Tince
Summary: Four: Spring was imminent. -*Rayne
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: You'd be enjoying Firefly Season 10 _right now_ if I did.

A/N: Obviously, my subconscious is clearly more interested in weird, concept pieces than some decent Raynefic (although, I snuck it in there - albeit discreetly) and this stuff keeps creeping up on me. So here we go: this is a River-centric piece, I'm thinking immediately post-BDM.

**Spectrum: One**

by Tince

Fire and ice was never a choice... not for her.

The ice used to creep through her veins, thickening her blood, hardening her heart, freezing her thoughts and emotions. It felt liquid, acid flowing and twisting and turning - its only goal her total, all-encompassing destruction. The skin on her face was taut, the parched surface being stretched and pulled - ever tighter - over the muscles and bones, too little material and too much to cover.

She felt outside herself - like losing hold of something that shouldn't be lost. Like she was watching events unfold from _above, __outside, __without_ - able to see every excruciating detail in perfect clarity. But the removed perspective was worse somehow, because not only could she _feel __the __pain_, she could see it being inflicted, smell her torturers' pleasure, touch the droplets of blood and innocence floating in the air.

And it was all in _blue_ - stifling navy and drowning indigo and blinding sapphire and... metallic cobalt, the colour _the __devil_ wore proudly, inhumanly, _cruelly_.

Blue could be many things, positive things, beautiful things; but they were all twisted in her mind now. Calm was artificial, relief was injected, and she only saw the skies and seas in her fevered dreams, like mockeries of what she didn't have, couldn't see... of what was beyond _this_ endless, unrelenting, asphyxiating blue.

Blue was hell: cold, sterile, insanity.

Now there's fire in her blood, scorching her insides, flames licking, caressing, melting her frozen shell. Sometimes she can almost hear the ice cracking - the fissures spreading and multiplying - unclenching its viselike hold on her body.

Her mind is still fevered, damaged from the icy intrusion and freezing assault of blue, but now she dreams of fire and heat, of being moulded and shaped and _reborn_ from the flames.

There's red everywhere now - the copper of life and blood, the gold and amber of happiness.

She doesn't need calm or stillness or anything else that _blue_ can give her anymore. She's had enough, too much, more than anyone needs or can ever want or should ever have to agree to take.

What she needs, _desires_ now is the crimson of a fight - satisfaction, resignation, and exhilaration in the control of her skills, body, and mind, the warmth of burgundy and family, the scarlet of laughter. The sighs and shivers of rose, the fuchsia of lust and the pink of love.

Red was heaven: chaos, passion, incandescence.

_Being __real __and __red __was __all __that __mattered __now_.

* * *

><p><span>AN: Reviews make me feel like someone is actually reading this and not - y'know - grimacing in disgust.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: ...good one.

A/N: I still don't know what _exactly_ this is. But there's definitely some Rayne now... couldn't help it.

**Spectrum: Two**

by Tince

She liked that he was violent.

That he enjoyed the pain and pleasure of a fight, blood pumping and stomach clenching. It made him feel alive, tethered, _important_. When his fist - the size of small boulder - was rushing towards your face at an ungodly speed, you tended to forget everything and _everyone_ else.

He became the centre of the world: kicking and punching and smashing and destroying. He became a demon, smiling and growling and dragging his enemies down to a fiery hell.

His force came from muscle and sinew and bone: straining biceps and iron-hard fists, built and maintained and _cultivated_ to deliver pain and victory. He controlled his body, calculating the angle necessary, the weapon needed to conquer and eliminate.

Hammering down blows, merciless and grinning.

_Solid._ Like rock and earth and everything warm. Unshakeable, immovable, steady.

Grounded.

* * *

><p>He liked that she was violent.<p>

That a tiny, _fragile_ ballerina could snuff the lives out of dozens of men - hard-as-nails mercs and trained soldiers alike - spinning and whirling; dancing a fatal routine without thought or effort.

She became unhinged, without equal in fierce beauty and power. She was exceptional in many ways - _most_ ways - but when she was fighting, she was something else... _transcendent._

She hid it well, _so __well _that it never failed to amaze him. Hid the strength and stealth - that combined made her the deadliest of all weapons. Crafted to kill, without mistake or failure.

Weapons like that were sleek, minimal, almost delicate... _beautiful._

The results were always astounding: the lethal force unleashed and impossible to defend against.

Her face would settle into an unshakeable mask of calm, of concentration, intent on total victory. And her body would take over, the staggering ferocity of her blows almost _comical _in relation to the hands and feet delivering them. She was so much greater than the sum of her parts.

_Angelic. _Rhythmic and flowing, like a soft breeze, like a rushing stream. Twisting and turning to the sounds and sighs of the universe.

Free.

* * *

><p><span>AN: I reckon I'm not going to beg for reviews childishly anymore.*

(*_unless_ you would like me to)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not a chance.

A/N: I can't help it. This is now a _thing_.

**Spectrum: Three**

by Tince

She was the day.

He was the night.

She was light and rebirth. _Beginning __and __changing __and __spinning __anew._

He was darkness - _constant __and enduring_. Unflinchingly opaque.

Hers was the air of morning, fresh and crisp in the sparkling sun. Illuminating his shadows and scars, allowing him to start over and again.

His was the soft caress on the back of her neck, a warm blanket of stars and sparks on her _always_ freezing nights.

Daylight seen through glass - coloured, many faceted, delicate. Brittle.

Night all-encompassing - the same black in all the 'verse, no deviations or differentiation. Stone.

For she had always had too much light and he had always had too much darkness.

* * *

><p><span>AN: Each review gets a homemade Christmas sugar cookie.

And let me tell you... those babies are _good_.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Only regret - alas, not ownership - is mine.

A/N: Thank you to all those people kind enough to review this work. The encouragement is immensely appreciated, especially when venturing out into unfamiliar _*cough_non-Anatomy-related_cough*_ territory ;)

**Spectrum: Four**

by Tince

There was something about the frigid winter that made it electric.

The opaque, immoveable blanket of snow and ice over everything - without bias to living or dead - always seemed to have a dark, mysterious quality. The icy winds whispering secrets and stories to those who cared to listen.

There was a tension - an unvaried, depthless exterior hiding a vibrant internal life. Things brewing and burning and_ being born_ within.

So watching him_ prowl_ - movements powerful and practiced - through the storm, she couldn't help but appreciate the undeniable beauty of a predator in his natural habitat.

The air smelt like pine and promises, promises of rebirth, renewal... of redemption. There would still be the harsh, desolate cold before the thaw but it would come, _it had to_. Spring was imminent.

So she took a deep breath - filling her nose and her lungs and her heart.


End file.
